


Miss Me

by ScarletteStar1



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Erotica, F/F, Fridget, Hayley Kiyoko - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian, Longing, Love, Song fic, fridget af, post season five
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 22:40:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14724944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletteStar1/pseuds/ScarletteStar1
Summary: An angsty, erotic little Fridget fantasy I whipped up as I was listening to "Wanna Be Missed" by Hayley Kiyoko. The one in which Franky decides to pay a visit to Bridget late at night during her time on the run. . .





	Miss Me

_**“I wanna be missed like every night** _   
_**I wanna be kissed like it’s the last time** _   
_**Say you can’t eat, can’t sleep,** _   
_**Can’t breathe without me.** _

_**I wanna be held fragile like glass** _   
_**‘Cause I’ve never felt nothing like that** _   
_**Say you can’t walk,** _   
_**Can’t talk, go on without me.** _

_**Aren’t you tired every day?** _   
_**‘Cause I run through your brain** _   
_**Hold me down, keep me safe** _   
_**This is as good as it gets** _   
_**Don’t you dare second guess** _   
_**Only want you saying yes...” Hayley Miyoko, Wanna Be Missed** _

.........

She hadn’t planned to wake Bridget.

There was a high probability Vera informed the authorities on the relationship between Franky and Bridget. If the cops were watching the house and it wasn’t safe for Franky to be hanging around, but she had to see the house. She had to see the place where she knew Bridget was sound asleep. Had to see where she had found her happy ever after even for just a few months of her life. The place where she had buried fears deep in the soil of salvation.

Lurking in the dark, she made certain there was no one around, then crept closer. As she trampled through the garden, she woke a bunch of fragrant lemon myrtle, which released its fragrance. It tingled in her nose, triggering a series of deeply rooted olfactory memories. _It’s your oldest and most primitive sense_ , she remembered Bridget telling her. _That’s why scent is so important to people._

Franky bent down to pluck a bit of it. She rolled it between her fingers and inhaled. It smelled like a hundred things at once. It smelled like the kitchen soap Bridget favored. It smelled like sunshine and happiness. It smelled like her girl after she’d spent the day gardening, her soil stained clothes strewn in the bathroom as they stumbled into the shower together. _I think we need to lather you up you dirty bird!_

Seduced by the fragrant plants, Franky snuck into the back of the house. There would be no way the spare key would be where it always had been, under the rock next to the fire pit. But she looked anyway, her breath catching in her throat when she found it there, shining in the dark. It was a dark and inexplicable force that compelled her to pick up the key and bring it to the door, slide it into the lock.

And then without any warning, the entire back yard was flooded with light.

“Fuck,” Franky hissed, ducking down as though she could escape the flooding glare. She expected to hear police, but what she heard was the back door swing open.

“Freeze where you are,” Bridget said.

“Shhhh, Gidge. It’s me. Please tell me you haven’t called the cops!”

“Franky!” She snapped. She reached inside and flicked the switch to turn of the outside lights. She grabbed Franky’s wrist and pulled her roughly into the house, looking around wildly before shutting the door. Franky practically tripped over the step on her way in.

“Easy,” she whispered, as Bridget flung her into the dark kitchen, then fingered the locks on the door behind them. Three locks. A lock in the knob and two dead bolts. Franky noted the extra lock with a frown.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Franky?”

“Well it’s nice to see you too, Gidget,” Franky said. “You might want to find another hiding place for your outdoor key, although it looks like it wouldn’t really matter anyway.” She tossed the key onto the counter and gestured at the locked door.

“No,” Bridget said cooly. “I suppose it wouldn’t matter.” She crossed her arms over her chest. She was pissed. Franky saw her shoulders rise and fall in the rapid succession of her breath. She also saw Bridget was dressed in her soft, gray night dress with the sheer black robe over it. She looked delicate, bones straining against her skin, pale hair against pale face.

Franky pulled her lips into her mouth, biting down on them to keep from flinging herself into Bridget’s arms. “Ya look thin,” she said. “Have you been eating, Gidge?”

Bridget’s mouth fell open and her arms fell down to her hips, hands spread wide and then clenched up into fists. “Eating?” She snarled. “Eating? Fu. . . what the. . . no I have not been eating, Franky!” She swatted angrily at her hair and then her hands seemed to fly around her head, not quite knowing what to do with themselves. Her eyes darted around the room, wild also, not certain where to land. “Is this even real right now? You? You’re in my kitchen? Here? What is this? What the actual fuck is this right now?”

“Shit I’m sorry,” Franky mumbled taking a step closer. “But yeah. It’s me. I’m here. I thought you’d be asleep and I didn’t mean to wake you. I just wanted to see the house, to know you were inside sleeping in our bed.”

“ _My_ bed. It hasn’t been _our_ bed since you got yourself locked back up!” Bridget practically shouted.

“Oi! Keep it down, yeah?” Franky said. “And I deserved that, but I’m going to set things right. I swear it, Gidget.”

“Oh my god,” Bridget whimpered and rolled her eyes back in her head. She took a step back from Franky and her knees felt weak, felt like they would float right out from under her at any moment. “I can’t,” she started, and then repeated it again. “I can’t. I can’t do this. I . . . I can’t. . .”

“Ok,” Franky choked. She wiped her hand over the tears that were spilling over her cheeks and pinched her nose to try and stop it running. “I’ll go.”

“I should call the cops,” Bridget sobbed. “How dare you? How dare you put me in this position? Again?”

“Well are you gonna?”

“No!” She shrieked, breathing hard and fast. “How could I possibly do that? I can’t win here, Franky! You have me in a double bind and I can’t. . . I can’t. . .” Her knees went weak again and she crumbled into a ball on the floor, crying and panting. Franky had no choice but to kneel before her, collect her in her arms and try to soothe the small body of the woman she loved. But Bridget pushed her away. “No. No. No.” She stuttered. “I can’t. . .”

“It’s okay,” Franky said slowly through her own tears. “Gidge, look at me, I just wanna get you settled and then I’ll go.”

“No,” Bridget sputtered again, “I. . . can’t. . . breathe.” She looked up at Franky with wide eyes, panicked and gleaming in the darkness of the kitchen. Franky nodded and exhaled in a decisive puff.

“Come on,” she said. She put her arm under Bridget’s arms and looped them around her shoulder. She half dragged, half carried Bridget down the hall into the bedroom. She gently placed Bridget on the bed. “I’ll be right back,” she promised and dashed into the adjoining bathroom. The washcloths were in the same spot and she grabbed one and ran the tap until it was icy cold, then put the cloth under it just enough to dampen it. She ran back to find Bridget, still gasping, clawing at her neck. “Here, here,” she said and put the cloth on the back of Bridget’s neck. “Come on now, Gidge, look at me. Nice and slow now. In for four and out for eight. Come on. You remember. That’s it. Just like you used to do with me when I’d have a bad dream. There you go.” She patted the cloth over Bridget’s forehead and chest as her breathing slowed, wiping her tears and muttering things meant to be gentle as she did so. Finally, Bridget fell back against the pillows, her hands on her stomach as she breathed in and out. “Stay right there. That’s better. You’re doing great. I’m just going to get you some water. I’ll be right back.” Bridget nodded, her eyes closed.

Franky went back to the kitchen and without even thinking about it, opened a cupboard and grabbed two glasses, then filled them with filtered water from the spout in the door of the fridge. It wasn’t until after she’d done this and was on her way back to the bedroom with the two glasses, one with ice and one without, that she realized her body had operated on pure muscle memory from life before.

“Glasses were in the same spot,” she said as she walked back into the bedroom. “I can safely assume that you still prefer your water without ice?” Bridget sat up and nodded as Franky handed her the glass. They both took a couple sips. “I helped myself, I hope you don’t mind,” Franky said, crunching down on an ice cube.

“I guess I can spare a glass of water,” Bridget said, her voice wry. She folded her legs under her and straightened her night dress over them. “What are you doing here, Franky?”

  
“I told ya. I just wanted to see the house.” Franky shrugged and sniffed back the tears that were threatening to come again.

“Cops have been here, have been asking me questions about you. Vera had the grace and discretion to warn me, and to not tell the authorities the full extent of our relationship. But they were here. And they could come back.”

“I guess I just wanted to feel close to you in some way, to feel connected to our old life again.”

“Oh, Baby,” Bridget sighed and reached out for Franky’s hand. “You took a major risk coming here. You put both of us in jeopardy.”

“I know,” Franky cried, defeated by the tears that had pent up within her for months. She pounded her fists on her thighs. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight. I’m so tired, Gidget. So bloody tired.”

“What are you going to do?”

“It’s better if you don’t know details,” Franky started and Bridget drew her hand away. It was elusiveness and schemes that had driven the wedge between them while Franky was in Wentworth. “Look, I’m not lying to you. Not now or ever. I don’t want you to get mixed up in any of this and the less you know the better it is for you. I don’t even know all the details. I just know I have to find proof and clear my name.”

“How did you do it? How did you get out?” She looked pleadingly at Franky, already knowing Franky wasn’t going to answer her questions. Franky looked back at her and smiled sadly.

“So, did ya miss me?”

“Every night.”

“Just the nights, then?”

“Every second of every heartbeat.” Bridget said and dropped her face into her hands, crying quietly. Franky kicked off her shoes so she could curl up next to Bridget on the bed. She wrapped her arms around her and held her as she cried. It worried her how fragile Bridget felt, like a delicate piece of crystal that would shatter if dropped or knocked against something. Franky ran her hands up and down the bumps of Bridget’s spine, realizing she’d never held anything this precious before in her life, cursing herself for not being there to better protect and care for her.

“So, this clean break thing, then,” Franky started. “Not working out so well for us after all?”

Bridget sat up and snorted a little laugh. “Well it’s not working when you show up at my house in the middle of the night while you’re on the run from prison!”

“Fair enough,” Franky shrugged. She settled herself back in Bridget’s arms with her head against Bridget’s warm chest.

They were quiet for a bit, holding each other lightly and with uncertainty. To Franky, it felt a bit like lying on a float in the water, allowing it to support you, but knowing if it slipped away you’d be completely on your own, left to sink or swim. She bobbed on the tide or Bridget’s breath trying to match her own to it, as if that would create some other dynamic, as if that might save them.

Bridget broke the silence. “You smell like you’ve been rolling around in the garden.”

“I was. Well, sort of. I came in through the lemon myrtle. Smelled amazing.” She didn’t add that it smelled like home, because even though her primal memory thought it was, this was not her home any longer.

“You know I thought I was going completely mad when I saw you outside of my work last week. I thought I was having a psychotic episode. Then I saw about your escape on the news. That was you, wasn’t it, outside my office building?”

“Yeah,” Franky rasped against Bridget’s chest. “It was me alright.”

“God, what are we going to do?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m going to take care of it. All of it. I just need you to believe in me.”

“My little dreamer,” Bridget said and Franky looked up because she wasn’t certain if there was an edge of anger in her voice, so she wanted to read her face. But there was not even the slightest trace of anger in Bridget’s eyes, just infinite sadness. It struck Franky like a fist in the gut, that Bridget’s sorrow felt far worse than any anger she could have possibly directed toward Franky. Anger Franky could have devoured and digested. Anger Franky understood. But this deep despair was devastating at a level that felt so much like drowning Franky could hardly bear it. Bridget stroked Franky’s cheek and kissed her forehead. “Are you hungry?”

“Nah.”

“Would you like to take a shower?”

Franky heaved a great sigh at this generous offer. “Would I ever,” she said. She’d been washing up in public restrooms and hadn’t had a proper bath since she’d left Wentworth over a week ago.

“Go on then,” Bridget said. “You know where everything is.” Before rising from the little cocoon they’d made of each other on the bed, Franky pulled Bridget’s face down to hers and kissed her on the lips. It was a dry kiss with closed lips, but it felt warm and familiar and there was comfort in that. Bridget patted Franky’s thigh in another familiar gesture. “If you give me your clothes, I’ll toss them in for a quick wash, yeah?”

Franky nodded as she stood. Inside the bathroom, she peeled off her shirt and then her jeans, stuff that wasn’t even really hers, but had belonged to that backstabbing Iman. She stripped off her bra and panties, embarrassed that they definitely smelled like they’d been worn for days on end. She tossed it all into a grubby pile and turned on the shower. The water ran over her hand until it was steaming hot, and then she climbed in. Instinctively she looked at her reflection in the vanity before drawing the shower curtain closed, and saw the thin frame and haunted expression of a woman she hardly knew. She looked at the counter and saw in the toothbrush holder there were still two toothbrushes- she knew the bright purple one to be Bridget’s, and the sparkly green one, well that was Franky’s. All this time and Bridget hadn’t thrown out her toothbrush. Franky shrugged, stepped out of the shower, grabbed the toothbrush, spread it with paste and hopped back into the shower where she stuck it into her mouth and scrubbed.

As she was lathering up her hair with shampoo, she heard Bridget open the door. She peeked out of the shower. “I’m just grabbing your clothes,” Bridget explained, but Franky caught the way her eyes drifted down over her wet body. _Get that gorgeous ass in here, you!_ Echoes of the past bounced off the walls of Franky's mind.

“You kept my toothbrush,” Franky said, holding it up for Bridget to see. “Or else you took up with some other chick who likes green sparkles.”

“Nuh. It’s yours,” Bridget said. As she bent over to scoop up Franky’s clothes, Franky got a glimpse of her bare skin beneath her nightgown. “I’ll leave you to it then,” she said.

“You gonna call the cops while I’m in here?” Franky asked as Bridget was leaving. Bridget turned around slowly, arms filled with Franky’s clothes, and smiled sadly.

“When have you ever not been safe with me, Franky?” She left, closing the door behind her, leaving Franky alone in the steamy shower. She rinsed her hair and then slathered it with conditioner, smelling again the familiar scents of home and love and comfort. She was suddenly desperate to get out of the shower and back into Bridget’s arms. She had to touch her, to feel her, to kiss her like they might never kiss again, because that was the reality. They had already been shown they weren’t guaranteed tomorrow or happily ever after, and there was a possibility Bridget was right and Franky was simply dreaming.

She climbed from the tub and wrapped herself in a towel, dried herself as quickly as possible and practically raced out of the bathroom. In the bedroom, she found Bridget had laid out some clothes on the bed. Franky’s clothes. Not prison clothes. Not another inmate’s clothes. Franky Doyle’s clothes, from the time she was free. Jeans and a black tee shirt. A plaid flannel button down. She picked up the pink and orange leopard print underpants and slipped into them. Bridget chuckled behind her. “I thought you might be happy to see some of your things,” she said.

“Yeah,” Franky said. “Better than Christmas! I can’t believe you kept all this stuff, but thanks. It’s great.” She dropped her towel and picked up the hot pink bra. She was about to put it on when she heard Bridget gasp and looked up to find her left hand splayed on her heart. “You okay, Gidge?”

Bridget nodded. “It’s just, you’re so beautiful. It hasn’t even been that long since I’ve seen you, and how is it possible I’ve forgotten how gorgeous you are?” Franky put the bra back on the bed and stepped over to Bridget, naked but for her leopard print undies. She pulled Bridget to her and tucked Bridget’s head under her chin. When Bridget looked up at her, there were tears pooling in her blue eyes. “I stop crying only to start again, Franky. It’s like this every day.”

“I know,” Franky replied and kissed her forehead.

“I’m exhausted from chasing you through every avenue of my mind all day and all night. I get no rest from it. It’s exhausting to miss you, to want you, to love you. I am so full of you I can barely eat and I’m so consumed by you I hardly sleep. Most days I don’t even feel like I can remember how to walk in a straight line. It makes no sense and yet I’ve forgotten how to live my life any other way.”

“I’m so sorry,” Franky started.

“No. No, Baby. I don’t want you to be sorry. I just want you to kiss me.” She stood on her tip toes to reach Franky’s lips with her own and this time their lips parted easily with heat and desire. Bridget slipped her robe off and then pushed the straps of her nightgown over her shoulders so it fell down past her hips into a shadow at her ankles. She grabbed Franky’s neck and pulled so their kiss could deepen. Franky’s arms came around her and held her fast, their warm skin joining like a victory.

Onto the bed they toppled. Bridget climbed on top of Franky and loosely held down her arms at the wrists. She kissed her face and neck and then nibbled at her breasts. Franky attempted to free her arms, but Bridget increased the pressure a bit more to keep Franky held in place. She stretched her body out on top of Franky and for a moment she was perfectly still, her face lingering cheek to cheek with her lover. “I want to pin you down like a butterfly, Baby. I want to keep you here with me always. I’m so scared for you to leave again, but I know you can’t stay.”

“I promise ya I’ll be back,” Franky whispered and Bridget let go of her hands so she could wrap her arms around her.

“God, Franky, I want to believe you.”

“Then believe me, dammit! Don’t question or second guess it. I gotta have you in my corner Gidge, and I need to know that you’ll be here when I come back.” Franky squeezed Bridget’s ass and elicited a little moan from the blonde, but Bridget didn’t respond directly to Franky’s pleas. “Well?” Franky asked. Desperation mixed with arousal creating a keen anxiety which made her knead Bridget’s flesh.

“Well what?”

“Say you’ll be here.”

“Where else would I be, Baby?”

“So that’s a yes then?”

“Yes,” Bridget murmured low in Franky’s ear as she suckled Franky’s earlobe. It was a pledge of consent for many things, an oath which allowed them to turn to one another and take the comfort they needed. Comfort of wet tongues, pearly nipples, and dewy flesh. Comfort that beat with its own unique pulse. Comfort of familiar fingers and similar smells. Comfort that picked them both up and carried them off on dark waves of stormy waters and assured them they would both float with each other and it would be okay. It would never be enough, because it never was, but it would be theirs, because it always had been.

Desire made them bold, as did the knowledge that the clock kept its infernal hum, maddening metronome that it was. They were fast and ferocious, knowing the time for tenderness would be later or never, but for now they couldn’t consume one another quickly enough. When Bridget curled her fingers inside Franky’s silken center, she bit down hard on Franky’s neck, remembering the exact choreography to drive the moment to its glorious crisis. “Say it!” Bridget growled the command, also familiar, momentarily making Franky think she’d lapsed into another time altogether. “Say it, please, say it!” She could feel the rhythmic pulsations as Franky brought herself to the edge.

“I’m yours,” Franky moaned into her ear.

“Again,” she begged, riding Franky’s thigh in a soaking frenzy.

“I’m yours. All yours. I’m yours. Yours alone. I’m yours.” As her contractions spread out in glowing waves around Bridget’s fingers, Bridget sighed and brought herself to the same gasping conclusion against Franky’s thigh.

In the stillness that followed, Bridget thought Franky had fallen asleep. But then there was that familiar pat on her bum that let her know she was there. “You’ve gotta eat more, Gidget. This glorious ass is gonna get all scrawny on me.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Bridget laughed, settling into both Franky’s arms and the rhythm of their banter. Franky raised her head slightly and Bridget knew she was looking at the clock. “When do you have to go?”

“Soon, I suppose.”

“Do you still love me?”

“What do you reckon?”

“I reckon you do, but I’d like to hear you say it anyway.”

Franky propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at Bridget, stroking blonde locks off her forehead. “I love you, and I’ll be back,” she said.

“And I love you,” Bridget whispered. She nuzzled her head against Franky. “I don’t want to fall asleep, but I’m so sleepy.”

“Let’s sleep a little then,” Franky said. It wasn’t long before the rhythm of Bridget’s breath became slow and even. Franky extricated herself carefully and gradually from the bed. She stood there for a moment, just watching Bridget sleep. Then she collected her things and went out to the living room to dress. She wanted to leave a note, but she knew that would be a bad idea, so she focused on the work that was to be done as she tied her shoes.

She slipped from the house, and retraced her steps, back through the lemon myrtle. As she passed through it, she plucked some and stuffed it into her pockets. Sighing and swallowing a fresh surge of tears, she stepped back into the shadows.

-fin-

**Author's Note:**

> I live for comments and love to hear from you!!! Thank you so much for taking the time to read. This fandom is amazingly kind and supportive and I love it here so much. xoxo.


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